


The Midnight Rider

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: When Draco learns of his son, he is determined to help the village that raised him.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	The Midnight Rider

15 June 2003

Rowensmeade was nestled in a valley in the mountains of Wales, a quaint town that appeared straight out of antiquated fairy tales. An owl had delivered a slip of parchment the day prior. The missive's only message: "Rowensmeade, Wales. –L.L." Draco wasn't certain of the content's validity and the idea that he was walking into a trap settled like lead in his belly.

Still, strong instinct told him to trust this L.L. individual. Under the guise of Polyjuice, he took on the appearance of a shorter, stout, and bald Muggle. His hands shook with his wand tucked in the sleeve of his robes as he stepped onto the path of the main street. Shops lined the streets, rickety name plates swinging in the breeze over their doors. The war was raging beyond the mountain tops and the town seemed completely unaffected.

Witches and wizards milled about lazily, speaking and laughing jovially. The bakery smelled of fresh confections and the butcher was stringing up cured hams in his shop window. After being so immersed in war and brutality, living every day in fear under the Dark Lord's watchful eye, it was absolutely queer to see such joy.

A florist with carts full of the last of the season's tulips was speaking in hushed tones as Draco approached. He stopped to listen to the man, eavesdropping to find a clue as to why he was in the village.

"The Death Eaters razed the farms and manufacturers. We've kept the war at bay as best as possible, but troubling times are ahead. Without those individuals, we won't have any supplies coming into town."

"We'll starve!"

The men's words fell on deaf ears as Draco rounded the tulip cart. His reason for being in Rowensmeade became glaringly evident. Hermione Granger walked out of the ice cream parlor, a glass container of ice cream in one arm and a tiny boy clinging to her from the other. Draco's heart began to pound out a violent tattoo as he took in the boy's appearance. Silvery blond strands that glittered in the sunlight and curled around each other like Medusa's snakes. Pale, smooth complexion. A set of curious pewter eyes peering at Draco from against his mother's breast.

Vomit threatened to expel, his throat raw and closing rapidly as he stood there. She was alive, she was safe, she was healthy. And she had a baby. His baby. It had been nearly three years since Draco had laid eyes on her—since the day she'd left for a mission and never returned. Heartbroken, he had never been able to move on from her disappearance. The Ministry had officially issued a death certificate, cause of death unknown. Draco had grieved every day since, unable to accept a death without a corpse.

Draco was a mole, reporting weekly to the Order. He'd spent many nights among the Order members, curled around Hermione, and falling together in love. The task had become significantly more difficult since her passing but he remained vigilant and steadfast in her honour. He was determined to help the Light win this war against the Dark Lord, to fight for everything she died for.

As desperately as he wanted to go to her, to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her until the sun rose again in the east, he knew that exposing himself was dangerous. He could cost the Order everything they were fighting for. And Hermione was here, hiding a boy from War's deathly kiss.

Keeping a safe distance, Draco followed Hermione as she made her way to the end of the row of shops. The owner of the last shop-Quidditch & Things-was bringing new brooms inside for the night. The boy in Hermione's arms squealed with delight as the shopkeeper made a toddler broom whizz around them. "Fly, mumma, fly!"

"You can fly when you're older," she mentioned, running a hand over his mess of curls.

"No, mumma. Now! Fly!"

The shopkeeper laughed and wrangled the broom, holding it out for Hermione to see. "It's safe for children. Once he's on it, it won't go above three feet or faster than he can run."

Hermione bit her lip and Draco knew it was because she had no idea how to fly a broom. Her command of the instrument was limited to making it quiver indolently on the ground rather than flying it in the air. As a tear formed in the corner of his eye at such memories flooding him, the man put up one finger. "Let me ward the place and I'll be right over, Hermione."

"Thank you, Mav."

Draco watched as Hermione turned the corner and walked down a row of cottages. His heart was thumping in his chest as he slinked after her, looking at every angle afforded him for possible danger. When Hermione arrived at the last cottage on the left, there was an elderly woman bent over the flowerbeds, picking weeds. "Oh, Lorna, you didn't have to do that!"

The woman waved her off. "Nonsense. I remember what it's like with the little ones."

Hermione gave her an appreciative smile and set the child down on the porch to remove his shoes. "I don't know what I would do without the people of this town."

Mav from the Quidditch store came strolling up behind him, lugging three different toddler brooms. "Is there something we can help you with, sir?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes at the outsider as Hermione and Lorna looked on.

Draco put his hands up by his chest. "Not at all. I took a wrong turn, is all. I meant to head west."

"You'd best be going then. A storm is coming in soon."

A storm did, indeed, roll into the tiny town.

o-o-o

27 January 2004

Draco stood atop the hill overlooking Rowensmeade. The night air was biting, stinging his lungs with every breath. He'd been taking these midnight rides every week for nearly six months by this point, but the closeness and safety he felt upon arrival never failed to ground him.

Taking hold of Hel's bit, he gave it a gentle tug. Half Akhal-Teke horse and half thestral, her bright champagne coat was haunting against the night sky. "Let's ride, girl." She turned her ethereal blue eye on him and nickered in acknowledgment. Draco ran his hand along her body, scratching over her ribs before he climbed up on her back.

Draco thought often of the day he'd first come to the town, when his entire life had come crashing down around him.

Hel's galloping pounded over the cobblestone of the town as Draco retrieved the first bag of food. He tossed it over the first fence, and it enlarged upon impact with the ground, an apple rolling out to rest next to it. He repeated the action down the row, tossing various goods to each home along the way.

The people of this town cared for and helped to raise his son. They showed kindness and compassion to the love of his life. They kept them safe when he couldn't. Dropping off sacks of much-needed goods was the least he could do for the townspeople, after all they'd done for him. However unknowingly.

The townspeople were too frightened to come outside in search of his identity. He made the run-a quick ten minute trip in the cozy setting. He knew everyone in the town, without having ever spoken to them. When the war was over and the dust had settled, he would be sure to greet each person and shower them with endless gratitude for standing in his place.

Hermione had a large oak tree situated on the far side of the house and under cover of darkness, Draco would sit atop a bough and watch as his son slept. As he neared the last cottage on the left, he dismounted Hel and gave her a gentle pat. He leaned against the trunk of the tree and peered through the window.

Scorpius. A beautiful name for a beautiful boy. Full of otherworldly wonder and majesty. The war was so close to being won, Draco could nearly taste the victory on his tongue. Yet the days dragged on as he thought of what he was missing. He put his hand up to the glass, as though he could feel the boy's life force emanating from within.

"It's you."

Draco whipped around and Hermione was standing behind him, hugging her arms around herself. The pair stood and eyed one another, something akin to awe and reverence as they were reunited. Tears streaked her face, slimmering in the moonlight and Draco couldn't stand idly any longer.

He crossed to her in two strides and grabbed her face between his hands, his mouth knocking painfully into hers. A clashing of heart and body, he felt weightless as she wept openly against his lips. The salt of her tears burned his cracked lips and he relished the pain. "Draco. Draco."

Granger was clutching him for dear life, holding onto him as though it would be enough to keep him from returning home to Wiltshire, returning to the demon with snake eyes and a tongue like venom. Draco buried his face into her hair, running his hands over every inch of her as though to make sure she was actually here and not the mirage he'd followed for six months.

"Granger," he was breathless, unable to draw enough oxygen to adequately fill his lungs as he looked down at her. "I have to go. I'll come back for you. In a few weeks when this is all over, I'll come back for you and for our son." His heart clenched in agony within his chest as the words left his lips.

"Promise me."

Draco leaned down and whispered against her lips, "I promise," before kissing her one final time. "Scorpius won't meet me at my grave. I'm going to make damn sure of it."

o-o-o

13 March 2004

Draco lay in the hospital bed, every bit of him aching as he stared out of the window. War was hell and he certainly felt like he'd walked through fire. A soft knock at his door alerted him to a visitor and he groaned. The last thing he wanted was to pretend to enjoy the company of others at a time when he wanted nothing but rest.

The door opened, but the individual made no noise. Glancing at the reflection in the window, he saw Hermione standing in the doorway. His face broke into a wide smile, one her reflection returned and he looked her way just as she nearly threw herself on him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he winced. "Easy, Granger. I'm wounded."

"You're alive."

"I don't want Scorpius to meet me like this," Draco told her, holding her flush to himself.

"Well hurry up and heal. I have a rambunctious little boy that is entirely too Malfoy for me to handle alone."

o-o-o

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a belated birthday gift for bookloverdream/blessedindeed. She has given so much to this fandom and to me, I couldn't ever begin to thank her enough. Sorry it's a little late! Also...ALL THE HIDDEN HERMIONE STORIES. I don't apologize.


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